


A Tin Man Reprised

by Zaxal



Category: Psych
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:24:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He does have a heart, but it doesn't know what to make of Lassie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tin Man Reprised

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from kato_sama on LJ: Psych, Carlton/Shawn; Shawn telling Lassie he loves him for the first time.

Shawn doesn't know when it changed, but it did. Somewhere between the cases and the teasing and the manhandling, something shifted in a way that he can't quite explain. It's not his fault – he's pretty sure of that. He acts the same as he always has, taunts Lassie until he's red, mouth twisted into a scowl as he pushes Shawn away. Lassie must've changed something. Because Shawn knows he doesn't keep coming back just to irritate. No, he wants to be there, wants it to be _Lassiter_ , because bothering Jules and Gus and Henry just doesn't do it for him.

So he keeps coming back, keeps cracking jokes and giving secret smiles and touching when he can get away with it just to see that anger. Barely contained, a volcanic eruption just waiting to happen, and if he laughs a little too much when Lassie's hands are on him, hurting but never enough to be discouraging, it's because Lassie's changed somehow.

It makes Shawn feel like he's never really felt before. And that should be frightening, should have him on his motorcycle headed anywhere else, but it doesn't. Instead, he's smiling, coming back for more even when he knows he should leave Lassie be.

Which, really, ends up working out for the best. More cases means Gus is happier, Shawn actually has money of his own from time to time, and he gets quality Lassie time. And as time goes on, that new feeling doesn't go away. If anything, it just gets worse. He finds himself staring at odd moments, catching that small frown of concentration or the late-night/early-morning sleepy haze that gets quickly shaken away.

Worst of all, though, are Lassie's smiles. Those perfect, white teeth flashing when he finds something genuinely amusing or when something makes him happy – the way even his eyes seem to light up. Something inside Shawn's chest warms, tightens, like it doesn't want to let go. It hurts, but it's so good and he never wants it to stop. He's walking on sunshine. 

And, incidentally, he's humming that song as he flips through a case file left carelessly unattended on Lassiter's desk. Has been for the last two days to the point where Gus had been giving it his all to get a different song stuck in Shawn's head.

"Spencer," Lassie doesn't even sound surprised anymore. "Out."

"You should look into the butler." Shawn glances up from the folder. Doesn't bother putting his hand to his head, loves walking this thin line along the edge because confusing Lassie, making him think, making him want to know more about him only makes that tightness in his chest twist and burrow deeper. "It's always the butler."

"He's not a butler. He just cleans the house."

"Yeah, but what are the chances of getting to accuse a butler in this day and age?"

He can never get Lassie to smile for him. At him, yes, when he's messed something up or when someone gets the upper hand, but he could tell every joke in his arsenal, fling himself like a rag-doll all around the room, and Lassie would barely do more than smirk. And that, for some reason, hurts in the bad way. It's the watching a marathon of _Lifetime_ movies, curled up on the couch with a tub of ice cream, tearing up through dramatic music while Gus sobs nearby sort of hurt. "Get out of my chair."

Shawn rolls his eyes and leans back, propping his feet up on the desk. "Haven't we moved past this, Lass?"

He responds with a glare, "Apparently not. You're still here." He grabs Shawn's ankle with surprising quickness, knocking his feet off the desk and twisting the chair. Lassie tips the chair forward until Shawn tumbles out, lands on his knees and pauses just long enough for Lassie to wonder if he's going to stay there.

That red is starting to come back, and Shawn gives a cheeky grin, rising easily and brushing his way past Lassiter. "You could've just asked," he says quietly, secretively, his smile widening as that angry flush spreads.

Flirting. Touching. It started out because it made Lassiter uneasy. Wide-eyed, deer caught in the headlights, 'Get off my lap, Spencer', but that changed too. There's intent to it now. A matter of principle. He can't just stop because Lassie's gotten used to it. He just has to up the ante, and when he does, he gets touched back, pushed away harshly. He used to make pained sounds, but now he laughs, goes easily to wherever Lassie leads him, and taunts so that Lassie keeps touching him for a second or two longer, a bit rougher, trying to make a point before he realizes that it wouldn't matter. Because whatever he's saying with it, Shawn doesn't hear.

All he's aware of is the tightening in his chest and the daze in his head of _Lassie's touching me, he's touching me, he likes touching me, he so totally wants-_

And that's when the fog suddenly clears, and Shawn's aware for the first time that he wants Lassie to want him. Not because it'd be funny to have a Lassie-with-a-crush fumbling and stammering and out of his element. He wants Lassie to want him because he wants Lassie. And that is so totally _wrong_ and not at all how it's supposed to work because he doesn't want people to want him. He's unreliable and irresponsible and he feels guilty when he lets others down. The less people want him around on a long-term scale, the better.

He keeps that want bottled up inside him. He doesn't tell Gus or Henry or even his Mom – mostly because he does not want the psychiatric evaluation that goes along with wanting a man who's almost a decade older than him and hates him. No, he keeps it to himself. Shawn tries to keep the pining to a minimum, too, because he shouldn't expect it in return. He doesn't, anyway.

Why the hell would Lassie want him? He can't even get the other man to smile.

He dates more in the ensuing weeks than he did in the years before. Brief flings that always end because he can't help himself. He knows what he wants, and everyone else falls short of it. Which isn't their fault, either, so he makes them hate him so they won't come back. Won't have time to realize that Shawn has a big problem.

Every case starts feeling like a new kind of agony. Being so close is torture, and he can either let it subdue him (unacceptable) or he can amp up his annoying habits all the way to 11 and try and crack Lassie. Try and prove that this isn't possible and hope it means he can finally move on. But Lassie's built up an immunity, and even though he's annoyed, he doesn't let it get to him.

There was a murder of a teenage girl and the kidnapping of her twin brother, and they've been working on the case for days before they finally figure out where the kid's being held and why. Lassiter orders him to stay behind, but he never takes orders from Lassiter, so he and Gus and Lassie and Jules are all in this abandoned apartment building that's been scheduled for demolition in a week, looking for the nutjobs who have taken the boy out of his life and into theirs.

Shawn sees one of them creep into the hallway behind Lassie, Jules, and Gus, the kid held in front of him like a human shield as he points his gun over the kid's shoulder, aims it directly at Lassie, and Shawn's world goes into slow motion. He steps in front of the gun, shouts something that only the sister, the brother, and the kidnappers would know, something to make him an immediate threat though everything feels so hazy he can't quite remember what just came out of his mouth. He sees the glint in the shooter's eyes before the finger on the trigger tightens, and there's a boom and a larger body pushing him aside, pinning him to the wall.

Lassiter doesn't even look at him. Goes for his gun as Jules pulls hers and Shawn's knees go weak as he collapses against the wall for support. Gus is there, fretting over him, making sure he hasn't been shot before pulling him away from the action. Shawn calls out, "The second kidnapper's hiding in the bathroom of 2C," before letting Gus drag him away, outside, back to safety.

Lassie and Jules emerge what feels like forever later, two kidnappers and one victim in their possession. It takes Lassie approximately 20 seconds to pass off his cuffed perp off to a uniform and find Shawn, grabbing him and steering him around the corner of the building. Gus doesn't follow, and Shawn can't really blame him. Lassie looks pissed.

When he shoves Shawn against the wall, it's hard enough to hurt, but Shawn doesn't mind. Lassie's right there, touching him, had saved his life, and he's saying something like "What the hell did you think you were doing, Spencer?" and "Can't you follow even the most basic instructions? I swear to God, you are the most simple-minded liability I've ever had to put up with, and believe me, I've had enough to judge by."

He keeps ranting, but Shawn gives his answer anyway. "He was going to shoot you."

Lassiter pauses, and Shawn repeats himself, "He was going to _shoot_ you, Lassie."

"That risk is part of my job. My duty to the city and her citizens, and you don't have a right to-"

"-To save your _life_?"

"To get yourself killed in the line of duty that isn't yours!" Lassiter growls. Shawn tries to pull away from him, but Lassiter's quicker. He shoves him against the wall again, old, rough brick scraping his back. "You could have died." His hands rest on Shawn's biceps, keeping him pinned in place. Lassiter blinks, the rage flickering like a dying fire. "And..." Shawn's breath catches in his throat. Like Lassie might actually care. "And do you know how much paperwork that'd be for me?"

"I couldn't help it." He'd had to do something, had to stop the gun aiming at Lassie. Because one bullet, and it'd all be gone. No more attempting to make him smile, no more teasing and making him mad. No more threats and manhandling. No more of that passionate fire he gets when he's on a roll or the sadness when he tries his hardest and fails. No more bad haircuts and tacky ties and childish competition and arguing and fun. No more of that feeling in Shawn's chest that makes him think he might die if it doesn't stop or that he might die if it does.

Lassiter scoffs, "No. God forbid Shawn Spencer is ever not the center of attention." He lets up on the pressure holding Shawn to the wall. He pulls his hands back, looking at him with anger and frustration, and Shawn's reaching out before he can get more than a step or two away. Gripping holster and pulling him back.

"You're wrong," he says, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice.

"You usually think I am," he points out, voice a quiet, rumbling growl.

"This is different," Shawn insists.

"I doubt it."

"Please. Just listen to me. For once in your life, just listen-"

"To the pathological liar? I'll pass." He brushes Shawn's hands off him but doesn't move. Waits there for Shawn to say _something_ and everything Shawn can come up with would only prove Lassie right, and the words slip out before he can stop them.

"I think I love you." Lassiter's eyes widen for a moment before narrowing, more angry, more unforgiving than he'd been just a moment before. Shawn's confession continues, unhindered by the knowledge that Lassiter hates him. "And I couldn't watch you get shot without doing something about it. I can't lose you."

Lassie always wanted the truth from him, and now Shawn's given it, can't take it back, and he wishes Lassiter would yell. Would punch him or shove him or just do something instead of glaring at him. He turns and leaves without reacting, and Shawn slowly pulls himself up, puts on his game face, and goes back to the crowd on the other side of the wall.

He and Gus leave without making a scene, and that's the way he intends for it to be. He'll pack up as soon as he can, tell Gus and Henry that he's leaving, call Jules from the road and say he's been called away by his Uncle Jack for a rare opportunity somewhere in South America so that when she passes on the message to Lassie, he really will think Shawn was lying to get a rise out of him.

That's what he intends, but he never makes it that far. He tells Henry over their weekly dinner that he's thinking of moving on. Henry asks Gus about what's going on, and Gus only knows that Shawn started acting distant after his talk with Lassiter, and Protective Best Friend Gus (not to be confused with Little Girl Scared Gus though the two are often in the same neighborhood) faces down the man he's still scared of, and that's how Shawn ends up with Lassie at his front door, looking more angry than he did before.

Shawn sighs, "Look, if you're gonna punch me, just don't hit my face. I don't want to be all 'I walked into a door' for the next few weeks."

"I'm not going to hit you," Lassie says, still sounding just as pissed off as before.

"Oh. Well. If you're going to shoot me, make sure they don't find my body. Gus'll be upset, and I don't want people to be all weepy on my behalf, and anyway-"

"Can it, Spencer."

Shawn closes his mouth, says nothing as Lassiter pushes his way into his apartment. Shawn closes the door and waits for the inevitable boiling over. He's been building up Lassiter's anger for years now, moreso in the recent months, and of course – _of course_ – it would be that painful truth that finally pushed him to the edge.

"This is all just a big game to you, isn't it?"

Shawn's head snaps up and his chest does that ridiculous tightening again because Lassie's gone from being mad to looking somewhat distressed and that's _his fault_ and he wants to make Lassie smile, not look like someone's killed his favorite pet. "No." He shakes his head, takes a small step forward, "No, it isn't."

The cases sometimes are. And the lying is. But he does a good job, and he helps people, and he gets the bad guy in the end, and that should be what counts even though he knows it doesn't. Not for Henry, and certainly not for Lassie. "I was being serious, Lass. I did something stupid, I know that. But you could've..." He takes a shaky breath, shakes his head, "It was worth it to me. And I know it wasn't to you because you're too good to want me dead no matter how annoying I am. And that's fine. Really. You won't have to put up with it anymore." He gestures to the three bags sitting on the couch, one of them already stuffed to bursting and the other two well on their way to being packed. "Few more hours, and I'm out of here."

Even that doesn't get him a smile. It should. Should have Lassie grinning from ear to ear, saying goodbye, enjoying his victory, but it doesn't. Instead, Lassiter continues to frown. "You're leaving."

"It's what I do."

"Why?"

"Mom says it's because I'm too smart. I get bored way easily, so I have to move on to find something else that challenges me. Also I don't like being a disappointment, so I push people away, and the best way is to just pick up and leave before anyone gets real expectations of me. She has an entire file on me. I'll have her mail it to you – it's great bedtime reading."

He hears Lassie take a steadying breath, "I meant. Why are you leaving now?"

"Come on, Lassie." He meets his eyes, tries to smile. "You're smarter than that."

"Things got a little too real back at the apartments."

"Wrong," Shawn sighs, disappointed because Lassiter's either being intentionally thick or he's ignoring what's right in front of him. It's the first time he's admitted the real reason to himself, and when he says it out loud, it feels like too much. "I want to leave before you hate me more than you already do."

"Bullshit."

"No. Not at all, really." He does smile this time, forces it out. "Don't you know what I look like when I'm lying to you by now?"

Lassiter nods slowly but says nothing. Shawn gets back to packing, throwing odd baubles here and there into his suitcase. He resists the urge to pack a snowglobe from his shelves or toss it to Lassie. In fact, he ignores Lassie entirely, goes about his business. Hoping that when Lassie leaves, his heart will hurt less.

Instead, there's a hand on his shoulder, pulling him up. "What sort of sick joke are you playing here, Spencer?"

Shawn shrugs his hand off, glares, "Not joking. I'm out of here. Gone. Sayonara. See you around."

"Why?"

Shawn laughs, "You really don't get it? I'm in love with you, Lassie. In actual love, I think, with the butterflies in my stomach and my chest hurts, and you make me so happy sometimes, and I can't- I _can't_ see you for one case a week or more knowing that you hate me." His smile is fake, verging on manic, but he needs Lassie to leave before he feels even worse. Before he cracks. "I didn't ask to feel this way. I don't want to, but I do, so I'm getting rid of the problem. I'll get out of your life, and you can go back to doing Head Detectivey things the way you've always wanted. Congrats, Lassie, you win."

"You're in love with me," Lassiter repeats again, and Shawn's half-tempted to punch him because yes, he is, could they move on to something else?

Instead, he goes back to tossing things in his bags. "Yeah. I know. Pretty stupid of me."

"Spencer." Shawn ignores him. "Spencer," he growls, and Shawn continues to putter away from him, resisting the rising urge to lash out. To yell and scream and act like every desperate girlfriend and boyfriend Shawn has wronged over the years who just wanted him to love them back.

This is his punishment for being so closed off and selfish that the one person he does have feelings for doesn't even tolerate him.

"Spencer." Lassie's hand touches his back, and Shawn's heart jumps. He flinches away, doesn't want pity or sympathies. He wants to run away, be done with it, and that's all. He wants Lassiter to leave him alone and let him go. Not keep doing this because if he does...

"Shawn." _...if he does..._ Shawn looks up, meets Lassie's firm expression and tries helplessly not to read too much into the twitch of his eyebrows or the way he's leaning forward.

Because if he does, then he's going to start thinking that there's hope.

"Don't leave." Lassie says quickly. Like he didn't mean to. Like it was the same accident Shawn had hours ago. After a moment, he adds, "Please."

"Why?" His voice is small, quiet, because that tightening in his chest is making him feel every rapid beat of his heart, and he thinks the world stops at that look in Carlton Lassiter's eyes. It's like nothing he's ever seen before. Infinitely better than anger, edging just ahead of his best smiles. It's soft and warm and Shawn memorizes it instantly because he needs to remember it in case he never gets to see it again.

Lassie licks his lips, starts to speak several times before going with the worst lie Shawn's heard in his entire life. "You're an asset to the department."

Shawn can't help it. He smiles, laughs, and, wonder of wonders, Lassie's lips curve, part, and he sees a flash of those pearly whites. The tightening in Shawn's chest loosens, flutters, and he feels so light, in the clouds, sunshine-walking as he says, "Liar liar pants on fire, Lassie." He steps closer, scared and excited as he quietly demands, "Real reason." Then adds, because Lassie had been polite before, "Please."

Lassie's head tilts forward, and Shawn's lifts up, and they could be kissing in a matter of centimeters. "I don't want you to go."

And it's not an 'I love you, too' but hell if Shawn won't take it.

He grabs Lassie's shirt and pulls him close because if he's not allowed to leave, then neither is Lassie. He pushes his head up, presses their lips together, and he's scared as hell, heart hammering in his chest until Lassie's hands go around his waist and pull him close against him.

And maybe it's not being loved back, not yet, but it's definitely a step in the right direction.


End file.
